


The Will Of Seidreyl Lavellan

by Telanadas



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Light Angst(?)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-04 01:05:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5314250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telanadas/pseuds/Telanadas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Seidreyl Lavellan was a lot of things. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>No one ever thought the word 'terrified' could describe him as well as it did. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Will Of Seidreyl Lavellan

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to quickly apologise for the summary. I never was very good at writing summaries..

The will of Seidreyl Lavellan was one best left unchallenged. That’s why when he twisted his leg to the point of permanent damage, it was rarely even suggested that he stay off his feet for any period of time longer than it takes to choke down whatever alcoholic beverage Bull was so fond of but nobody else could easily stomach. The first time Lavellan had tried it, he called it Dragon’s Breath, though he wasn't entirely certain the burn could even compare to a flame.

Despite his injury, is was never an issue. Being an archer, he rarely had any need for much speed, no matter how fond he’d been of his many flips and acrobatic shots. And while fast movement was difficult for him now, he still managed to back-flip-a little trick he did, where he’d occupy the enemy with a well-aimed shot, crouched low, giving him the time to flip back a safe distance-so he wasn't in any more danger than he’d always been.  
This had never been an issue, and no one could quite recall when or where he hurt himself, but dared not ask either. It was a sore subject with Lavellan. Reminded of an inability, though the words were never spoken aloud he took it as an insult. As if being told he were no longer capable, useless. Unwanted. He took it as an insult and a challenge.  
Wounds were certainly something he did not take entirely seriously. No one dared to ask him if he remembered. Regardless, he did. Lavellan had always been rather reckless. He’d rather slide down a mountain, often hurting himself with the impact of the landing, or getting caught and falling straight down, than take the stone staircase mere steps away. He would rather attack a bear head-on than dance around it in the hopes of going unseen. For a rogue, he was horrid at any kind of subtlety.  
These things were never issues. 

Despite his situation, scared was not a word one would commonly associate with Lavellan. On the contrary, he was quite cheery, often telling jokes and being quite sarcastic, rarely without a smile on his face. Some found it comforting. Others found it unsettling. But nobody dared challenge him. As many jokes as he made, he was serious about his position.

Now, the past was not something Seidreyl usually dwelt upon. He had once brought up, gathered around a fire after a hard, tiring, yet fulfilling day of hunting in the Hinterlands, that, had he left his clan for any other reason than the mission given, he may have considered the occupation of bard. Nobody could quite picture it, Lavellan himself included, but it was a light, joking atmosphere in which it was spoken. Unbeknownst to him, the sudden statement had left a feel of insecurity in its tone. Nobody questioned him further.  
While he didn't often speak of the past, his clan was a subject of extreme curiosity to many of his companions. Of course they’d encountered Dalish clans before, and it wasn't as if they were entirely in the dark on the Dalish, but the fact that Seidreyl consistently refused to speak of events or his role in his clan made his friends all the more curious.  
That isn't to say he never spoke of his clan. He spoke of the people he’d known, the trouble they’d cause, but when asked how they were currently, if he kept in touch, he would dance around the subject as if he’d never heard the question. He’d spoke of Adreyl and Ithdren, twin brothers who couldn't be more different. Adreyl, who was snappy and defensive, naïve and headstrong. Ithdren, who was calm and responsible, curious and cautious. He spoke of Lythes, who he admittedly did not know well, but who was overly sarcastic, not particularly friendly, but deadly skilled. He spoke of Fenhyren, the boy with the odd eyes and the hidden talents, quiet and always keeping himself out of the business of the clan. Despite all of the people he spoke of, he never referred to them as friends. He spoke of their escapades, he spoke of his “friendship” with Ithdren-At the least, he mentioned he’d known him best-but he never spoke a word about his involvement in his clan. This, of course, only made people want to know even more. He refused to comply. 

The will of Seidreyl Lavellan was one best left unchallenged. This was never clearer than the day he announced-quite proudly at that-that he was going to fight a dragon by day’s end. Bull, of course, was practically bouncing along for the trip. Solas and Cassandra didn't quite display the same enthusiasm as the Qunari did. Seidreyl didn’t quite match it either, but he didn't seem afraid. Naturally, when that dragon very nearly slashed him in two that stance changed. But he didn't regret it.  
No one was quite sure of the reasoning behind the declaration of war against the endangered creature. When asked, he simply said, “bragging material” in a joking tone, a sarcastic and amused grin on his face. Of course, when he and Bull began wearing matching dragon’s tooth necklaces, it became a lot clearer. No one questioned him though.

The will of Lavellan is best left unchallenged. Through his time as Inquisitor, something changed. When was uncertain, but something wasn't right. He wasn't right. One distanced from Lavellan may say he seemed occupied. One close to him may say he was afraid. He would confirm nor deny either accusation. Left unchallenged through most of his rushed decisions, it shouldn't have come as a surprise to him when his friends drew the line at his choice-he who limped due to his twisted leg and charged after bears three times his size-of learning the fast-paced, sneaky, shadowed ways of the Assassin. It just wasn't something easy to learn, particularly with his injury, and the strain the training may cause far outweighed his companion’s fear of angering him.  
Despite his tenacity, he responded with no anger to the concerns. He didn't see the issue either, but he wasn't angry. More than anything, he seemed afraid. Afraid and frustrated and concerned, but more than anything afraid. They persisted, as did he, until every time the subject would arise, the end result would be a shouting match between a deeply upset Inquisitor and the inquirer of the day (often enough Josephine or Vivienne). 

Seidreyl Lavellan was a lot of things. Stubborn. Sarcastic. Cheery in the darkest of times. Brave to the point of recklessness. Intelligent, yet naïve. 

No one ever thought the word 'terrified' could describe him as well as it did.


End file.
